


tea cups & diet soda

by myvoidedeyes



Series: (we are) lost boys [3]
Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Dark, Domestic Fluff, Fix-It, Found Family, Hemlock Grove - Freeform, M/M, Neck Kissing, Romancek, Rumancek, Season 2, Self-Destruction, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 23:29:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14820969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myvoidedeyes/pseuds/myvoidedeyes
Summary: there are two porcelain statues that own peter's heart and he holds them both





	tea cups & diet soda

She always seems as breakable and fragile as a china doll, no matter how many times he reminds himself she’s probably stronger than either of them. Her weight is warm in his arms, face soft and peaceful with sleep, the pale contours of her infant-round cheeks thrown into shadow by the low light. She’s always so still like this, only the occasional snuffling breaths and twitching of her tiny fingers to provide reminders of the life that beat within. He smooths his own rough, calloused digits over her soft thatch of hair, the smallest seed of pride blooming in his chest when she adjusts herself to press into it, eyelids fluttering but remaining closed. He knows, somewhere not so deep inside, that he’d give his life if it meant she got to live hers. If that’s the price this fucked up world demands for her happiness, he’d gladly pay it.

  
It’s hard to believe that, only a short while ago, he thought that the bundle cradled to his person had never had a chance at living at all. That she had gone still and cold, trapped in her mother’s bloodless body, and that he’d lost not only the one anchor he had against the madness, but an entire reality with it. Roman had held his hand as the world frayed and eroded around them, but Letha, Letha had held him down. So maybe she’s all he has left of the soft blonde hair and the softer voice that had curled around his body; his last remaining shred of sanity. Or maybe she’s too much like her father, laughing as they lure him off into the mist. Either way, he’s lost in it all anyway, gone too happily too far, so what does it really matter.

  
His thoughts break like a wave over the rocks at the muffled scuff of socked feet against the floor. The room is dark, illuminated only by LED clocks on kitchen appliances, so he doesn’t see so much as feel the presence as it moves closer, coming to settle in the groove of his side. There are words on his tongue about jostling her, but they die at the gentle press of lips to the juncture of his throat and shoulder. They nip and suck, marking their place with saliva and the tingling sensation of burst capillaries before slipping further up his neck. All he can think is ‘not here, not now, not with her’, but he doesn’t stop it. Waits until there’ll be a waterfall of purpled planets cascading down from his jaw in the watery morning light before pushing away. The noise he gets in response, a growling whine, sends shivers down his spine. In spite of this, he pointedly adjusts his hold on her, tension unraveling when the weight against his side relents, curling a too-pale arm across the back of the absurdly expensive couch, head resting on his shoulder as they both looked down at her, slack faced and sweet.

  
In this way, she is definitely like her father; the hypnotic pull of her face, her eyes, closed as they were. All he wanted to do was look and look, to memorize every delicate inch, like he knew the face balanced in the divot of his shoulder, contrastingly sharp and angular.

  
Between the two of them, it sometimes felt like drowning on dry land.

  
He fucking loved it.


End file.
